a/n: this story is told in clusters of time (hours, days, weeks...though the weeks part won't really be that many weeks, it just fits the theme - ha).
for a little background, if it's needed: this is about 14 ABY - Jaina Solo is 5 years old, Noura Solo is 20 months old (ish), and Max Solo is 8 months old (ish). Leia has not been Chief of State for very long.
Hours Later
There was a blurry clarity to the way the rest of the day passed. Leia reflected on the phenomenon later, as she stood on the balcony of her home, staring off not into the traffic of Coruscant but the private inner courtyards of their secluded community. Warm wind, always tinged with the urban scent of carbon and exhaust, pollution and metal, stirred the greenery far below, and with heightened senses enveloping her, Leia could almost see the faint twitch of the flower petals on the distant trees.
Blurry clarity.There was an oxymoron, a strange and peculiar way of describing things - but it worked. She had been well spoken, firm, and dogged as she finished her speech; and she'd been collected and cool as she dealt with the chaos throughout the rest of the day. It hadn't gone normally; of course it hadn't. The Media scrambled. Lausta, flushed with adrenaline over the whole ordeal, had lambasted herself and her team for letting a threat get so close, which Leia dismissed as an absurd reaction from the stoic security chief - threats happened, she reasoned, and close? Lausta had killed the prospective assassin with a blaster bolt that rang out before he himself had fired.
She'd seen the sharp movement. She'd seen he raised blaster. She'd taken him down. And yet, she was harsh on herself; on the network of eyes and ears that hadn't heard a whisper, hadn't been the wiser until he was dead on the floor of the airy venue.
It had been a him. That didn't surprise Leia. She had never seemed to inspire as much hatred in women as she did in men and as it were, in her experience, men were more prone to put weapons to their disgruntled feelings. Women usually soaked in resentment and strategic hatred, winning revenge and satisfaction in other ways. That wasn't to say women weren't violent. Leia wasn't a fool. She herself had been violent at certain points in her life and knew, quite simply, that she could be violent again, if need be. If Jaina, for example, had been targeted, if any of her children had crosshairs on them, Leia knew, without a doubt, that she could break a neck with the flick of her wrist. It wasn't the right use of her power, but she'd do it. Luke would disapprove, but she'd do it.
Which was why, she reasoned, she couldn't hold Han responsible for his manic reaction to the event - or rather, wouldn't. She was well aware of how threatening it looked to have had him standing before her podium, blaster damn near fixed on the crowd, and yet she'd let him stand. He hadn't left her side the rest of the day, barely holstering that blaster. When he had, the leather strap of his holster had remained unlatched, loose, twitching slightly under his hand as he thumbed it pointedly, a reminder to onlookers that despite all the years and all the changes, he could still be the Han Solo who shot to kill without the slightest cautious twitch of a lash.
She had watched the Media coverage - oh, and how it still raged - watched them fawn in awe over her decision to continue the speech. They had taken it for what she wanted them to: unshakable courage, the refusal to be silenced, but they weren't privy to the way Han's eyes had seethed at her when they walked off stage; they hadn't heard his tight, whispered anger in the speeder later - Are you out of your fucking mind, Leia? Are you totally out of your fucking mind?- nor had they heard his choked whispers later, holding her tight - Come here. Come here, Sweetheart. My life flashed in front've my eyes. Fuck. I was so...scared.
Han's fear, his confession to the fear, clutched at her heart painfully. She'd watched him hug the children tighter, just as she had, watched him give them their bedtime kisses with more protective ferocity. She thought of the reports that flashed images of him standing there next to her, blaster drawn, and swooned over the romance of it; commentators who even had a smile and a suggestive comment for the way his hand never left the small of her back the rest of the day as he escorted her about.
She hadn't gone directly home after the speech. She'd stayed, against his wishes, just like she'd stayed on stage, when both of them were still thrumming with the terror of what had just happened. She had watched Media coverage with an odd detachment, her brow slightly furrowed - recognizing herself, and nodding, but also conceding to Han in the back of her mind - was she absolutely mad, continuing? What if there had been a second wave of attacks?
But the attempt was so unsophisticated, so desperate. Lausta had not yet come up with a full report on the incident, but through grit teeth and a taut jaw, she had ascertained that it appeared to be a lone hound attack, the perpetrator not a bounty hunter but some disgruntled activist. Activist, she'd said, and Leia had pursed her lips, finding that peculiar. She herself had been an activist. She found it difficult to associate the word with someone who would use violence to try and take down a peaceful ruler.
Because that was how she thought of herself, of course - that was what the Republic had been, for so long now: peaceful. No galaxy as large and diverse as theirs could ever be utterly devoid of conflict, but violence was down, skirmishes were few and far between, and widespread compliance with a glittering democracy was the norm. And so why now, and who...?
Leia clutched at the mug in her hands. The tea she'd made was still too hot to drink. Han wanted her to take a personal day tomorrow, but she grimaced at the thought. She felt she'd set the tone by staying the course through the speech. She wanted to wait a bit to take a breather, so it would seem unrelated - she wanted there to be no visible cracks in the foundation of her government; for Sith's sake, she'd only taken over for Mon Mothma four months ago, and the responsibility of that was daunting beyond words. She was no stranger to governance, and yes, she had shed blood for this democracy and helped build it, but in taking the reigns she felt such a duty to her mentor, such a deep desire not to fail. If there was any fragility to be found in her, any weakness in her tenure as Chief of State, how fast could it turn to turmoil?
She was not silly enough to think that a mere ten years or so out from the Emperor's death, they were unbreakable and secure. Complacency could be the death of them.
Tight-lipped, she tried to figure out if she was scared. She couldn't decide. She was possibly in shock, that was fair. That would explain the blurry clarity. A one and done attempt didn't seem anything to be frightened of, certainly not after the horrors she'd survived in the past. And she was used to people trying to kill her.
Unbidden, her own inner thoughts challenged that assertion once again - but are you? Excepting this morning, when was the last time someone had tried to kill her?
She drew a blank trying to remember, and in the blankness, her heart hardened a little. Well, it didn't matter; it was over. She was fine, Jaina, Noura, and Max were fine - and hardly worse for wear - and Han would forgive her, because Han always forgave her, and because she was fine. She cocked her head, and ground her teeth. She drew in a deep breath, awash with awareness of the world around her. One of the benefits of her comfort with the Force these days is that she no longer needed Han - or anyone - to make loud noises to announce their appearance behind her. She could just tell they were there.
"Will you come inside?" Han asked sharply.
His approach had been silent, except to her. She turned her head slightly, and he was standing there looking haggard, half-asleep. His hair was sticking up, and already, a swarthy shadow was crawling across his jaw. The look reflected how he must have felt all day, and she felt a stab of guilt for getting up and leaving him alone in bed. He scratched his jaw, eyes narrowing.
"Leia," he said.
"The weather is nice," she murmured, and then frowned at herself. She had no idea why she'd said something so mundane and irrelevant. She wasn't even sure she was out here to enjoy the weather.
Han took a few steps towards her.
"Don't stand out in the open like that," he said.
Leia arched her brows. She extended her mug a little.
"Han, it's our courtyard," she said. "No one's going to shoot me in the courtyard."
He gnashed his teeth at her.
"How d'you know?" he snapped. "You think someone was gonna shoot you at the arena this morning?"
Leia pursed her lips.
"No one did shoot me this morning," she pointed out.
All the same, she stepped inside, and she regretted mincing words. He was right; she hadn't expected an attack at that idyllic, peaceful venue this morning, and perhaps that was the problem. She hadn't expected it at all. He hadn't. None of them had. And it didn't seem to make sense. A grimace touched his mouth, and he strode past her to shut the doors. The clatter of latch, as it locked home, echoed in her ears, almost like the fading crack of a blaster.
Han muttered something under his breath. If he were someone else, Leia might have attuned her power to amplify it, to eavesdrop, but she never did that to Han. His privacy was as important to her as hers, and there was no intimacy between them if she could read his soul like a book only because of her sensitivity, rather than because of their trust, and their love.
He gave a tight, controlled yawn, and Leia raised an eyebrow. It almost looked as if he had faked that yawn, somehow. As if he were trying to give the impression that he'd been asleep. He had been asleep when she slipped out. Or at least, doing a damn good job of pretending. Probably he'd been finding some escape in sleep.
"Why are you up?" she asked softly.
"Check on the kids," he grunted.
Leia didn't say anything. It wasn't really an answer. None of the three had made a noise; she'd know if they had, and Han didn't set alarms to check on them, so he couldn't have specifically woken up for that.
She raised her mug to her lips and took a sip. Han eyed her almost nervously, and twitched an annoyed glance at the balcony. She sighed.
"It isn't common knowledge that we live here, Han," she pointed out.
"Not this spot specifically," he retorted stubbornly. "But this area. Wouldn't take much to just take shots at every penthouse – "
"Shall I arrange a move into an underground bunker, then?" she interrupted, arching her brow.
For some reason, in her head, it sounded like a joke. When said out loud, it came off as horrendously mocking, and her face fell at the same time his did.
"Why aren't you taking this seriously?" Han asked after a moment.
Leia compressed her lips. She reached out to touch his wrist. She thought he might yank away from her, but he didn't. She turned his palm over, and held his hand.
"I am," she promised quietly. "I am, Han."
Lausta had half her team doing deep information dives on the man who had gone after her, trying to find connections, accomplices, histories, motives. He was rather young to bear political grudges of the Imperial sort, so there was a certain element of intrigue to it all.
Han considered her for a moment.
"Wouldn't say no to an underground bunker," he grumbled finally, grinding his teeth.
Leia laughed. She stepped forward and tucked herself against him. His arms came a moment later, and he rested his chin on her head. His heart thudded erratically in his chest, and Leia pursed her lips, making the softest of shushing noises, as if she could quiet it. He turned his nose into her hair and breathed her in, and then he clutched at her back tightly, little pricks of his nails through her shirt, and abruptly her throat closed off.
Almost clinically, she frowned at herself, realizing what was happening. It was like an out of body experience. His grip tightened, her chest constricted, her vision went black for a moment, and then she jolted suddenly, accidentally slamming her hand up into his wrist. Hot tea spilled over both of their arms, and Han leaned back, startled.
"What the - ?" he started, frowning.
Leia stared at the tea dripping off her arm, her eyes slightly wide. She pursed her lips, taking a deep breath. She'd nearly jumped out of her skin. She felt…the crawling, poking needles of a panic attack limping up her spine, and then took another deep breath, and the feeling faded away. She was so very in control of that now.
And she didn't jump like that anymore. Not when Han touched her. Not when anyone did. Not for a long time.
"Sweetheart?" Han asked very softly.
She noticed his hands had come off her completely; he was holding his palms just slightly over her shoulders, letting them hover. Muscle memory, it seemed; his hands had sprung off her in a flash, respectful, and nonthreatening.
Leia transferred her mug from one hand to the other, and cleared her throat coolly.
"I suppose I am a little on edge," she muttered, eyeing his chest darkly. There were some tea droplets there, and she ran her knuckles over his skin to dry them off. She sucked on her knuckles afterwards, still contemplating the moment.
She briefly thought of Han tackling her to the floor of that stage, but that only deepened her thoughtful look. Yes – he'd pinned her, but he hadn't intended to hurt her.
She felt his eyes on her, and he lowered his hands. He rolled his head back and forth tensely.
"Come back to bed," he suggested gruffly.
Leia's stomach clenched at the idea. She didn't know if the reluctance showed on her face – she hoped it didn't. She licked her lips, closing two hands around the wet mug, instead. For a moment, she thought about the evening; how she'd come home, thrown herself into the rigmarole of feeding the kids, bathing them, rocking them and putting them to bed – how Max had barely started his soft, baby snoring before she and Han were behind a locked bedroom door.
She'd clawed at him, and he at her, breathless and shaking, half-clothed and not even making use of the bed that first time – an affirmation of life and safety that took place against the wall of the 'fresher. He'd held a thumb to her mouth for her to bite on, so she'd be quieter, and she'd whacked the water on with her elbow, soaking them. It was over so fast she was still aching on the edge as he stripped off the rest of their clothes, rinsing the day down the drain, and knelt, his arm around her waist, and worked his tongue between her legs until she could barely stand.
Rough intimacy, desperate, grateful intimacy, followed by the slower, more burning kind, Leia settled on top of him, a comforting weight on his hips so he could touch her all over, look up at her, feel her there, know she was alive and unharmed. All at once they seemed to remember that life was fleeting and that they didn't take enough time to ravish each other, and the way he clung to her after, breathing heavy against her neck, told her so much more than words.
They'd exhausted themselves to sleep, and here they were. She had no doubt it was a nightmare that had woken Han, and he'd been shaken to find her gone, and as for her – it wasn't a nightmare, but restless anxiety had shaken her suddenly and coldly out of sleep, and that's why she went for tea, why she went outside to challenge the open air that Han now saw as such a threat.
"Leia," Han said slowly, folding his arms. He almost went so far as to hug himself. "You're…lookin' at me funny," he said honestly, drawing his bottom lip into his teeth. He bit at it, and the gesture made him look years younger.
Leia cleared her throat. Her eyes softened almost airily.
"Am I?" she asked.
She wanted to wince as she said it. She didn't sound like herself. She swallowed hard, and sighed, and then she got her voice back. She felt tired, and confused, and that made her wary. Shadows hissed in her mind, and for the hundredth time this night, she frowned to herself.
Could she still hear the echo of the blaster bolt, shrieking past?
"Han, I don't want to," she paused, breaking off. "Noura's awake," she breathed, sensing it instantly.
Han flicked his eyes up. He didn't hear anything yet.
"Leia," Han began haggardly. "I need you to come sleep next to me," he admitted. "That's all. I need you – "
Noura cried out. For a few beats, there was silence, and then she cried again, a low, mournful wail.
"Daddy? Daaaaady!"
It was always Han she called for in the middle of the night. Softly, before either of them could say anything, the entry chimes rang, and Leia closed her eyes lightly, her nostrils flaring.
"That's Father," she said decisively.
She didn't need the Force to know. To her surprise, a resentful scowl curved Han's mouth.
"What the fuck's he doing here?" he muttered, uncharacteristically hostile. Leia pursed her lips slightly, but Han went on, scratching the back of his neck. "It's late. You think he'd get that I get you to myself tonight, after I almost," he trialed off, gritting his teeth.
He shook his head, and let out a short sigh.
"I'll get Noura," he said calmly.
Before she could say anything, he slipped past her, jostling her only slightly, and she sensed he needed any reason to touch her, to brush against her, convince himself she was still there. Han had been close to tears earlier this evening, tangled up in a mass of sheets and arms and legs – or perhaps he had been in tears; there was always a chance she'd confused them with sweat, when he mashed his face into her mane of hair.
Something in her twisted, and shouted at her to go comfort him. Something else in her was stiff, cool; this was such a small thing, comparatively. She closed her eyes grimly, and nudged on the baby monitor they kept in the living room. After a moment of crackling, she heard Noura start to coo instead of whine, and very softly, Han's gruff, gentle shushing, accompanied by the garbled murmur of a lullaby.
Before she went to the hall to let her father in, she return the monitor's volume to the lowest setting, one only she could hear if she enhanced her hearing. Hazily, she thought she should tell her father to go home; Han was right, he had no business here tonight – but a different part of her, with clarity, saw no problem with letting him in while Han soothed Noura.
She still hummed with an unnerving, vague reluctance to go to bed with Han, and she gnashed her teeth at it grimly. It was a peculiar and unwanted feeling, and there was a chance an idle talk with her father could dispel it with the rest of the day's stark blurriness.
"Do you want some tea, Father?"
He demurred, and Leia arched an eyebrow at him. He certainly looked like he could use it. There were dark circles under his eyes. The wrinkles on his face looked more pronounced than usual, and it always made her chest tighten a little when she was reminded that her father was, well - old. It seemed unfair, that he should continue to age, when his survival had been such a miracle. Those lines of wisdom around his eyes and mouth reminded her that no matter what had happened, inevitably, she was doomed to lose him.
She accepted his refusal, though she went into the kitchen to wipe down her still drippy mug with a towel, and wash the stickiness off her hands. In the back of her mind, she felt a twinge that indicated Max was stirring, and she gave a soft sigh. He usually did wake up, if Noura did, and likewise, Noura rarely slept through Max's fitful nights. They shared the nursery, now; Leia didn't feel they were far enough apart to warrant their own rooms yet, but Max had outgrown the newborn cradle she and Han kept in their room, and Noura wasn't old enough for a toddler bed. She wasn't sure if they were getting more or less sleep with Max out of their room but sharing with Noura, and she didn't spend much time trying to calculate it.
One of the tenants of parenthood was exhaustion, no matter what the sleeping arrangements were. At least Jaina nearly always slept through the babies waking up. She'd trained herself to do so when Noura was a newborn.
"Some things never change, do they?" Bail asked, as Leia came back into the sitting room.
Leia sat down comfortably in the corner of the sofa, her usual spot. She curled one leg under her and held her mug delicately between two palms, smiling, in spite of herself. He was right; some things never did. She and her father were alike in that they often stayed up late into the night after major events, studying, thinking, planning. She remembered he'd come over after that press conference, so many years ago, and said much the same thing to her. He was more welcome now, of course, and there was little chance of Han kicking him out in a cool rage. There should be, at least. He had looked somewhat thunderous at her revelation that Bail was here.
"It's a wonder biology alone hasn't forcibly changed it for you," Leia quipped.
Bail arched an eyebrow.
"What a sophisticated way to call me old," he retorted.
Leia grinned. He compressed his lips, folding his hands and resting them on a knee, sitting rather stiffly in the armchair. She couldn't quite tell if it was psychological or physical discomfort that made him stiff; did he, too, feel he was overstepping by barging in, or was he just suffering the usual aches and pains of age?
"Is Aunt Rouge asleep?" Leia asked.
"Oh, yes," Bail sighed. "She took a toddy. But don't think she wasn't hysterical," he said, grimacing.
"I can imagine," Leia muttered.
She felt a flare of irritation, as she usually did at her aunt's histrionics. Fear and concern was one thing, but hysterics? Rouge hadn't even been there. She hadn't felt the rush, felt the threat. It should have been enough to calm her down, to know Leia was okay, to see her stand up and keep going, but no doubt she'd driven Bail mad with her hyperventilating worry.
"She couldn't believe you stayed up there, finishing that speech," Bail went on, slowly. "Neither can I, for that matter," he added, lifting his eyes.
He looked at her almost critically, and Leia shifted, her mouth tightening slightly.
"Well," she said, voice crisp. "You can both commiserate with Han regarding that."
Bail snorted.
"I figured," he said. "I didn't need the images of him standing there next to you looking murderous to know he'd be furious at such a stunt."
"It wasn't a stunt," Leia said sharply.
Her father just raised her eyebrow at her, and she fell silent, chastised. It wasn't a stunt - was it? At that precise moment in time, she hadn't seen a better option; the threat had ended, and the gathering was full of chaos, what better time to pull it together and present a strong front? She grit her teeth behind tight lips, and looked down into her mug of tea. Was he here to admonish her, or pick her brain? She was not entirely interested in either. For admonishment, she had Han's accusing eyes and the wounded, sharp aura that surrounded him, and as for analyzing that little assassin - well, it was over; why drag it out? This was just an unfortunate anomaly -
"I hadn't," Bail began, hesitating awkwardly. Leia glanced up at him, surprised he was so tentative. "I hadn't really gotten a chance to check on you," he went on. "I think you'd understand that I couldn't just...go to sleep without doing so. Checking on you as a father, not as a former Viceroy checks on a Princess, out in public."
They'd shared a quiet moment in her office earlier, cursory and comforting; a tight hug, a reassurance, and she had insisted then, as she had on stage, that the day was proceeding as planned. Lausta, of course, had demanded an overhaul of security measures, which was logical, and which Leia allowed as she maneuvered the rest of her day.
She thought of the time she'd packed off Han, Jaina, and Noura to the Embassy when the girls had Qii Pox, so she could protect Max. She'd known they were safe, as safe as they could be, and yet she'd tossed and turned all night, because raising Han on the comm real quick to check on them and say goodnight hadn't been as satisfying as if she'd been able to lay a hand on their backs and and try to kiss and soothe their fevers and rashes away. She did understand, as a mother; she did.
Unexpectedly, Leia yawned, her shoulders relaxing. She poked a finger into her tea idly, to see if it was still too hot, and of course it was too cool now. It had been ignored for too long, steam curling up lazily, and then it had been jostled and spilled, and now it was tepid and unappealing. She flicked some of the liquid off and took a sip anyway, deciding not to waste it. Or rather, to use it as a prop - tea, or kaf, or anything of the sort, was an excellent prop during conversation.
"How are you?" Bail asked simply. "Are you okay?"
"Hmm?" Leia murmured, as if the question took her by surprise. It didn't, but then it did, at the same time. Didn't she look okay? She looked at him critically over the rim of the mug, and lowered it. "Oh, yes," she said quietly. "Yes."
Her father continued to look at her, yet she remained calm, and sure. Her brow even crinkled a little, frustrated that he didn't seem to believe her. Why couldn't those surrounding her take her word for it? She didn't deny that the event had been jarring, but she was taking it in stride and it. was. over.
"I'm fine, Father," she reiterated.
Bail looked almost wary. In fact, he looked like Han had the time Leia swore she didn't need help putting Jaina's levi-trike together, and then had shoved it all into his hands two hours later, her brow creased in resigned irritation, blushing and swearing. He leaned forward, unclasping his hands, drumming his fingers on his knee, agitated.
"You didn't know this was going to happen, did you?" he asked curtly. She immediately knew he didn't mean to sound so short, and she let it go. "Try to draw out a pesky threat and...catch it?"
Leia smiled ruefully.
"Clever," she remarked, "but no. Maybe when I was younger, and more immortal," she quipped, thinking of the ego and gall such a plan would take - and remembering a few traps she, and many others, had deliberately sprung during the Rebellion. "I'd never take that risk now. Not with Han and the babies in my life."
The troubling thing was, Lausta said that all threat analyses had been rather mundane lately - the more violent ones, silent. And not unusually so, not silent enough to indicate something dire brewing. Things were just stable, good, and Leia wasn't much hated. The usual lunatics and radicals spit teeth and raged at her, but the security team knew how to separate posturing from real call to action. She trusted them to do so - and no, there hadn't been any credible threats, no dire warnings; in the past, Leia had listened to them, and allowed renewed plans or alternate routes, when something seemed certain, or too possible.
This was...anomalous. And thus...it mustn't devastate their lives.
Bail sighed. He leaned back, shoulders slumping. Apparently, that was a niggling thought that had kept him awake, horrified him all day. Kriff, Leia thought grimly, don't put that thought in Han's head - he'll walk out the door and take all of them with him. An over dramatic thought, and an unlikely one. An image came to mind of Han trying to make a dignified, outraged exit with three children, five and under, hanging on him, and tripping him up, and absurdly, she almost laughed.
"How are the babies?" Bail asked, his brow creasing. When she called all three of them babies, it made Bail smile; it seemed so fluffy and cutesy and incongruous to the way Leia generally presented herself.
"Blissfully unaware," Leia sighed. "They all sensed some tension and fear, naturally. I knew that this morning. But they're none the wiser. Yorev and Gareth didn't have the Holo on, so they hadn't seen it. It was a little comical, hearing them describe the sudden meltdown of all three."
She smiled tightly, thinking of it. When she'd called as soon as she was back in her office, both herself and Han reflected in blue glimmers to soothe the babies, Yorev had been frazzled, shaking his head - they all went off at once, like firecrackers! Gareth and I had no idea what was wrong! Two caretakers with three Force sensitive babies was a somewhat even ratio - certainly a privilege for Leia and Han - but even though the two young men were used to the strangeness, it still sometimes caught them off guard.
"Are you going to tell them?" Bail asked.
"Why would we?" Leia asked flatly, blinking at him. She pursed her lips, skeptical. "We'd have to explain what assassination is in the first place."
Her voice was dry. She imagined that conversation - trying to tell a preschooler, and a toddler, and a baby, that someone tried to kill Mommy, and perhaps having to explain what killing was, too, and then having to get in the political nature of Leia's job and - no. Much better to gloss over it, for now. Much better to tell Jaina, who had tearfully demanded to know what was happening, that Mommy had just fallen down and tripped, and it made her heart jump up really fast.
Don't be klutumsy, you're not allowed to! - Jaina had ordered, mixing up the words she wanted to use and storming away. She'd made Han laugh, though it was hollow and haggard. 'Klutumzy.' They were definitely going to be teasing her with that one for a long, long time.
Bail grunted. That was fair. He and Breha hadn't ever regaled Leia with tales of the threats against them, though those had all been external, and by the time she was fourteen, Leia was ferreting out secrets she never should have known.
"How's Han?" he asked pointedly, watching Leia take a sip of tea.
He looked around. It struck him as odd that Han wasn't around if Leia was up. He'd been glued to her side all day - understandably. Bail had only been watching the speech via Holo, but he was sure the image of Han standing there, blaster drawn, potential violence etched into every hard muscle of his face, would stick with him for a long time - and it wasn't an image that would daunt him, or make him afraid. Rather, he'd felt relieved, he'd thought, oh, thank the Gods, if anyone gets close to her, Han will annihilate them, and I'll buy him dinner after. It was one of the most violent thoughts Bail had ever had, and he'd felt no sorrow over it.
Leia let out a long, slow breath, slow, slow, slow as she lowered her mug with a finality that indicated she was about to set it aside, and abandon the facade of tea drinking. She shook her head, her eyebrows raised.
"He's not okay," she said bluntly. "He says he is. But he is not."
Bail pursed his lips, on the verge of responding immediately. Well, neither are you - he was about to say, almost caustic, but something stopped him. He refrained, and Leia arched a brow curiously, wondering what he'd held back. Instead, her father just looked at her, waiting.
"Not that I can blame him," Leia said after a moment, and wasn't sure if she said it because her father's stare was implying she should, or because she believed it.
She did believe it. Of course Han was shaken; there was nothing wrong with that.
"Where is he?" Bail asked. "Is he asleep?"
"No," Leia answered.
There was a soft jingle as Zozy came trotting down the stairs, the identification tags on his collar dancing. He exclusively slept in the nursery, so if he was out...Leia cocked her head at him as he darted over to Bail, flicking his tail and chirping softly. Bail reached down one hand patiently to pet him, and Zozy leapt up into Bail's lap. He perched on his haunches smugly, ears pricked up.
"Is Han coming downstairs?" Leia asked the mooka seriously.
Zozy swished his tail at her calmly. She heard Han's foosteps on the stairs a moment later, and then he appeared, carrying Noura and Max. Noura helped him, her arms looped around his neck and her legs comically stretched around his waist, clinging to him sleepily, and with one arm he grasped Max against his shoulder in a perfect balance. Bail looked ready to shove Zozy off him and get up to help, but Zozy chirped pointedly. Han's eyes were dry and red and tired, and he sighed as if he hadn't wanted the late night nursery visit to turn out like this.
Leia sat forward as he came closer, crouching down and leaning his shoulder to her. Leia set her tea mug aside and took Max, assuming he wanted to be fed, and Han straightened back up.
"I don't think Noury will go back down until he does," Han grunted.
Leia nodded. She turned Max in her arms, frowning for a moment at her attire. She wore pajamas, but they weren't conducive to subtle nursing. Nursing around family didn't really make her squeamish, but whipping her shirt off and exposing herself until Max got settled did. Han watched her for a moment, and then stepped forward and in front of her. She shot his back a grateful look, and pulled up her shirt, taking one arm out of the sleeve and letting the material hang around her neck.
"Hey," Han greeted Bail, and didn't say much more as he rocked Noura.
"Oh, hi, Baba," Noura whined through a yawn. She never said just hi; it was always 'oh, hi,' as if she'd just decided the person she was speaking to was worthy of her notice.
Max latched on, and Leia jutted out her foot to nudge Han and let him know he could move. He nodded in acknowledgement, grunted softly, and went into the kitchen.
"What are you getting her?" Leia asked, cupping one hand around the back of Max's head.
He kicked her elbow in protest, and she let her hand fall off, only a little offended. Max was not a very snugly nurser, and the girls had been; it had taken some time for Leia to adjust to the fact that he was all business about it.
"Spicy drink," Han answered, his voice floating out from the dark kitchen, completely deadpan.
"Spicy drink?" Bail repeated.
"It's what she calls carbonated water," Leia said, looking down at Max.
He looked back at her pointedly, and then, after a moment, closed his eyes. Leia sighed, and sat back. She was in the process of weaning him, but tonight she didn't feel like forcing a bottle on him instead. For the first few months of his life, she'd tried nursing both him and Noura - even though Noura was already more formula fed than Jaina had ever been - but it was too hard. Instead, Noura had gotten the shaft, and Max had spent three months in a sling at her breast, attending more meetings and senate sessions than either of his sisters, mostly because he was just so calm and quiet. He was almost nine months old now, though, and he was a little wilder, a little more alert, and Leia just couldn't nurse him like she used to, not since she'd taken over for Mon. She knew the transitory period would slow down and settle soon, but right now...she wanted to sleep all night when she could.
They could give a mother-of-the-year award to someone else.
That thought bristled through her brain, and she smirked softly. These were her usual, normal evening thoughts - but for the near nuclear outlying event that had occurred this morning, this could be a normal evening. It could be, but it was not. Han was on edge, Han thought she was going to be snatched away from him as she stood in the safety of their home. Her father was restless, sleepless, worried about her. Two of the three children were awake, and she -
She was okay.
Wasn't she?
"Leia," Han said gruffly, pausing by the sofa before he went back upstairs. "You gotta get some sleep," he said. "If you're not gonna take the day tomorrow. You gotta come to bed."
He gave her a look, muttered a farewell to Bail, and went lightly back up the stairs. Leia heard Noura tapping the sippy cup Han had given her on the wall, and imagined Han rolling his eyes, but not stopping her. With any luck, Jaina wouldn't wake up. She shifted her arms, resting her elbow on the arm of the sofa to relieve herself of some of Max's weight, tilting her head at her father. She pursed her lips thoughtfully, and his eyes lingered where Han had been. He had clearly noticed Han's subtle hostility towards his presence, and he certainly hadn't missed the undertone of resentful sarcasm that tinged his words - if you're not gonna take the day tomorrow -
Leia twitched her nose, patting Max's back lightly.
"I should," she remarked, nodding at the echo of Han's words. "Go to bed."
Bail nodded.
"You should take the day tomorrow," he agreed pointedly.
Leia rolled her eyes, exasperated.
"I am fine, Father," she repeated, standing up abruptly. It took quite a lot of grace, to stand up so confidently with a baby nursing, without jostling him to distraction or letting her shirt slip out of its delicate arrangement around her shoulders.
Again, he looked about ready to say something, and stopped himself. He merely nodded, and stood, Zozy leaping off his lap in a fluid pounce and climbing up into the spot Leia had just vacated instead. He leaned forward, touched Leia's elbow, and kissed her forehead. He patted Max's head gently as well, careful not to disturb him. Max twitched anyway, and Leia smiled a little. Looking up, she took a deep breath.
"Do you want to stay in the guest suite?" she asked. "Or - "
"No, I'll return home," Bail said.
She nodded, and inclined her head, letting him go before her. She showed him out, exchanging familial pleasantries, and then when he was gone, she sighed, and leaned her head against the door, staring down at Max while she stood there in the dark hallway. She had the urge to go back onto the balcony, enjoy the warm air, almost defiantly. No one could take her safety away from her, she wasn't going to let them. This was an outrage, this morning's moment an invader; how dare it happen? How dare - but she shook her head, soothing herself.
It was over. It didn't matter.
She yawned, making her way back towards the stairs. She caught Zozy inching forward on the sofa, darting his tongue out to lick at her abandoned tea, and she clicked her tongue at him. Immediately he was off the couch and prancing up the stairs, and Leia followed. Max was nodding off, his head lolling away from her breast, as she reached the landing, and the thought occurred to her that this moment - nursing him - made her feel alive as she had in Han's arms earlier this evening, in the 'fresher and in bed. There was so much around her that made her feel alive, and no room for shadows or threats.
Han was in the rocking chair with Noura when she entered the nursery. Usually, when he rocked her - either of the babies - he fell asleep before they did, but tonight he was wide awake. Leia shifted Max to her shoulder, and Han blinked, suddenly smirking at her. She was sure she looked amusing, her shirt all tangled up and half off, wrestling with the sleepy baby. She was quick about placing him in his crib by the window - Noura's, which had been Jaina's, was over in the corner - and then she righted her shirt, and turned to help Han put Noura down.
This time, Zozy hopped up in the rocking chair when Han vacated it. Noura clung to Han's shoulders, and then to Leia's hair and the cotton of her shirt, mumbling half-awake protests about being put in her own place. She still seemed a bit agitated, and Leia, resting a palm on Han's chest, said without thinking:
"You're so upset you're making her anxious, Han."
She meant it as an afterthought, but she recognized that it likely sounded condescending. She winced, kissing Noura before she coaxed her to go into her own crib, and Han's eyes narrowed silently. He took a step back, watching her for a moment, then turned stiffly. He rested his palm on Max for a moment, then left the room, and she heard him creep into Jaina's room to check on her one more time. Cringing at herself, Leia sighed - why had that sounded so accusatory? She hadn't meant it to be, it was just...true.
Lifting her hand off Noura, Leia left the nursery, leaving the door cracked open, and went down the hall to their bedroom. Han was already climbing into bed, gathering the covers around him without a word. Leia shut their door, turned off the remaining lamp in the room, and then shed her shorts and shirt in exchange for a loose cotton crop top and underwear. She slipped in beside Han, rolling close to him purposefully.
She found that the sudden spike of wariness she'd felt a little earlier was completely gone; she barely remembered it. She reached out to press her hand to his cheek and furrowed her brow, wondering, faintly in the back of her mind, what the hell had caused her to shy away like that. Why had she jumped, spilled the tea all over him? She inched closer, and kissed the bare skin of his chest where it had spilled, tasting faint honey. Han moved hesitantly, and then slid his arms around her, hanging onto her loosely for a moment before tightening into a real hug.
Han clutched at her, and Leia let him, closing her eyes. His chest pressed against hers, and she felt his heart racing - like it had raced this morning, when he held her under him, his body thrown protectively over her. She swallowed hard - what if Lausta had missed, what if the blaster bolts had hit him, because he was protecting her? Was that fair to the children - lose a father, because he was protecting their mother; lose her, lose either of them? She felt a spike of irrational anger, and quashed it. Han breathed in and out a little too rapidly, his arms tight, and Leia drew in a breath, listening to his heartbeat.
It's over, Leia thought heavily, maybe a little detached, but relieved, wanting to move on - but Han's fear enveloped her; he held her so tightly she had to pull away slightly, and when he slackened his grip reluctantly, she kissed his shoulder soothingly - this was par for the course, she was fine, and it was over; he'd sleep this off tonight, wouldn't he?
Neither of them fell asleep for a long time.
alexandra
story #395